Since discovering that someone, short, plump, and forceful had pushed between the house and the garden fence with ideas of gaining illegal access to my tender veggies, I have been waging my own private war with the backyard wildlife. When the apple with peanut butter didn't reel them in, for the past week, the frontal assault has been baited with watermelon, with no result -- but for the dining pleasure of a few hundred ants and a slug or two.
Then yesterday, mid afternoon, there was this blatant parade among the clover.
Aghast, I shot this surveillance photo, which sent the beast of my garden burden scurrying for cover. Now I had just been out weeding the hill garden yesterday and there was no sign of a subterranean home sweet home. But the backend swagger of the enemy suggested I scout the area again.
And much to my surprise, tucked beneath some lilies I discovered our neighborhood census had increased by at least one. With renewed determination and a fresh slab or two of watermelon I set the table right outside their front door. "Come and get it," read the big sign with an arrow flashing -- "Waddle this way."
While we ate dinner inside, after every bite or two, I was instructing the youngest to stand up and see if we were sharing this meal with the furrier set. Nothing. The middle one asked, "What are you going to do if you catch a ground hog?"
Despite having a teenage guest over for dinner, I gave my usual reply, "Dance naked in the street."
Of course shrieks of laughter, maybe even gales erupted from the table. The eldest smiled and said, "I have an image." I thought her smiling was good -- since it was her guest that was over. And I was reminded of how my own father would say things at the table, when I had the teenage guest over for a meal. I guess this apple didn't fall far from the three. But I digress...
Comments followed about the numerous car accidents and police escorts that may or may not happen. For dancing naked in the street is my standard answer for showing unbridled glee and happiness. Like when the children return to school... but I digress again.
We finished eating. Faster than any backyard wildlife, the children scurried for cover, avoiding the whole clearing of the table, and clean up detail. I let them. Alone in the kitchen I puttered. Then as the last of the chores were done I cast another glance out the window and gazed upon my captured guest.
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